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 The Heart of Darkness: the Quanlier

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Lore Mistress

Posts : 71
Join date : 2010-07-12
Age : 35
Location : Arizide, City of Masks

PostSubject: The Heart of Darkness: the Quanlier   Sun 02 Oct 2011, 7:02 pm

Once, long ago, the wooded areas of Arizide were places of peace and beauty. The native populace of elves kept the balance of nature and prevented any undue disruption of life and death. The fall of the elven nation is its' own tale, but the forest now known as the Heart of Darkness fell to a twisted imbalance in a different fashion.

While there have always been shapeshifters on Arizide- courtesy of Sarapis and his love of change- they were born to such a birthright and often aided the elves in keeping the forests safe. It was a blessing, this shapeshifting ability, and those children born to the birthright were nutured, taught and trained on how to shift painlessly, how to keep their will in the face of overwhelming animal instinct. At the onset of puberty, the children who were not granted the magical ability were sent to the elves for training in the ways of the woods. One child, however, did not do as she was bid.

Aching for the freedom to do as her siblings did, to run on four paws, to feel the power of the woods, she took a path that presented itself in a gruesome fashion. In her insane desperation, the one whose name is lost to history slaughtered her young brother and skinned his corpse, wrapping herself in the bloody pelt. The moment she did so, the girl felt the power of the dead shapeshifter fill her. The blood-soaked skin moulded to her own, and within it, she was able to do what she had thought impossible. The Quanlier was born.

As any immediate path to power will do, this drew others of the same mindset and a slaughter of the shapeshifting brethren began. The elves, struggling with thier own downfall, were unable to aid their friends. Soon, the Quanlier had attracted her own society of skinwalkers, leaving the soil of the once-beautiful woods soaked in blood and coloured by twisted screams.

Years passed, and the skinwalkers bred, turning their stolen abilities into an inherent power, but a gift stolen is never untainted. The blood of their murders coloured their wills, staining the souls of the breeding shapeshifters until they were no longer able to control themselves. When the beastial urge for warm flesh arises, the Quanlier howl their hunting song to the very edges of the woods.
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